


Love and Loss

by Haldane



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Utopia/Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords, the Doctor stands alone with nowhere to go, needing solace for his grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Loss

As the door shut behind Martha for the second time, the Doctor allowed his face to fall forward into his hands. Strong as he was, he could not evade the despair weighing down upon him. With no one watching him, misery overcame dignity and his entire bearing slumped, cocky facade shown up as the illusion it was.

Jack and Martha just weren't able to understand how much he had lost. They could only see the victory won, felt only gladness at the Master's fall. They had all suffered pain, but the Doctor alone felt grief.

Alone in more than one sense. Jack had returned to his friends; Martha to her family. The Doctor sat, desolate, in his TARDIS, with the power of being able to go to any place and any time, tasting the bitter irony of having nowhere to go.

He needed to talk to somebody. More specifically, he needed to talk to somebody who hadn't been hurt in the mess, who had no personal investment. He was so tired; he needed to receive comfort, instead of having to give it. He forced himself to think: was there anybody to whom the entire episode would be nothing but an adventure story, without genuine peril or pain? Someone who would be able to accept the fact that all of the Master's actions hadn't killed the love the Doctor felt for him?

Someone who understood about love, and loss. The Doctor set his controls for Elizabethan London.

\-----------------

It was six months after his previous visit by the reckoning of the locals. The room was unchanged from when he'd left it last, candles illuminating plain wooden furniture and plastered walls, a woven rug on the floor and a couple of blankets thrown haphazardly across the bed that took up all of one side. The rest of the furnishings consisted of a couple of chests, a rectangular table placed close to the window for the best of the natural light, and four stools, three of them unoccupied.

On the fourth stool sat Will, rufous beard neatly trimmed and shoulder-length hair falling over his brow as he scowled at a blank page. The Doctor hovered in the doorway for a moment, then coughed into his hand.

"Doctor!" The Doctor had to admit to gratification at the broad open smile on Will Shakespeare's face. It was soothing to his damaged spirit to have someone simply glad to see him. "Is the lovely Doctor Martha with you?"

"No, she's back with her family. I'm on my own." The Doctor felt a twinge of disappointment at Will's apparent interest in Martha, but it didn't last, as Will seemed not in the least disconcerted by his answer.

"No matter. I am sure that I can manage to console myself with your company alone." Will wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and even the blatant flattery was warming. "Wine? I have a decent bottle here, a gift from a grateful lady who appreciates the finer things in life."

"Yes, I'd like that," the Doctor answered, pulling a vacant stool up to the table. Will pushed his sheets of paper aside, clearing space for a bottle and a pair of pewter mugs. He dug at the seal with his knife, careless of loose bits of wax or cork. He splashed a generous amount into the mugs and lifted one.

"A toast for your tale." Will took a long swig of the wine, then looked at the Doctor's face, and laughed. "I can see it writ plain enough. Why else would you be here? A traveller returned must have a tale to tell, and who better than a wordsmith to listen?" He looked down into his mug. "You yourself called me perceptive," he said more softly. "I know a man whose soul is lost in darkness when I see one."

The Doctor sighed, a long, gusty sigh that felt like he'd been holding in forever, and then drank most of the wine in his mug. Not bad, actually. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted.

"Always a difficult choice," Will said matter-of-factly. "But the important thing is that you begin; I cannot do that for you. Although I can make it easier." He grinned as he filled the Doctor's mug again.

"What if I start at the end of the universe? There were three of us there; myself, Martha, and a man called Jack, whom I've travelled with before. We didn't know it, but there was an evil magician imprisoned there. Ignorance can be dangerous, and so it proved. We accidentally set him free, and he stole my ship..." 

Even pruned down, it was a long tale. But Will was an excellent listener, keeping track of the cast easily, not interrupting, just nodding from time to time and making sounds of agreement or surprise, to show that he was paying attention.

"So he took over the world, raining down death with fire and sword, and enslaved the population. Jack and I were held prisoner on his ship, but Martha spread the word among the people. After one year, they rose, attacking the Master from without as Jack and I fought from within. We overthrew his domination.

"And then he died. He could have lived; but he chose death rather than be put into my custody. I hoped that I could heal him, save him from the madness -"

"-as you did for Peter," Will put in, nodding in agreement.

"Yes. Although it didn't help him for long."

"That was not your fault. The accursed witch killed him. I was there, remember? Now," and Will paused to take a long swallow of wine, "what have you not told me? Why are you not happy that you won?"

"The Master - the evil magician who seized control of the entire world - was my friend. My closest friend. I'd known him ever since we were boys together, so long ago you wouldn't believe it."

"Ah. And you loved him." Will pursed his lips, then shrugged. "You lost someone you loved. Of course you grieve."

"Is it really that simple to you? He was completely insane. I can't even guess how many deaths he caused, how many lives he destroyed!"

"Love is love. It answers not to reason, and goes not where it aught but where it will." Will smiled wistfully. "Have you cried?"

"Cried?" The Doctor jumped up and paced across the small room, hands thrust into his pockets. "A little, when he died. Not since."

"You have shed tears for him, then. Have you shed any for yourself?" 

The Doctor felt Will come up behind him, and two firm hands came to rest on his shoulders. "You are the one left behind. You are the one who has suffered loss. Why refuse the need?" The poet's voice was almost irresistible, washing away the Doctor's carefully built walls as if they were so much sand. "He needs nothing from you now, and your friends have their victory. Come now, man, mourn."

William Shakespeare. His gift was in words, finding the words that made a key for every lock in the soul. In this shabby, dimly lit room, in a rickety inn on an undistinguished street, the Doctor's walls broke and he fell, gasping with pain too great for tears, into the strong arms ready to catch him. 

Once the gap was torn open, years of pain poured through, demanding expression. The tears came in their turn, with words telling of loss and shame and guilt, until the Doctor's throat was hoarse and his face red and blotched. At some point Will, without releasing him, led him over to the bed and sat him down. Will, still the perfect audience, continued to hold the Doctor throughout, rocking him a little and murmuring reassurances. 

\-------------------

No matter how great the emotional storm, the body containing it will tire and calm returns. As the Doctor finally fell silent, exhausted, Will shoved another mug of wine into his hand, and found a reasonably clean handkerchief for his face. "Are you better?"

"Rassilon, yes. I don't know how long it's been since that happened." He wiped his face and shook out his shoulders. "Oh, I needed that."

Will nodded in agreement. "Best to lance a boil and have it over with. You should not have let it fester so long. And you call yourself a doctor!" He laughed as he said it, and the Doctor couldn't help but smile back. 

Will leant in and kissed the smile. He brought up both hands to gently hold the thin face, and he bent to taste that alluring mouth. The Doctor's skin felt oddly cold, but Will didn't care. He brushed his lips softly over the Doctor's, touching and drawing back, a dozen distinct touches before breaking away to make eye contact.

"I do not seek to take the place of your love. But I wish to give you the comfort one person can give another, even as I would offer a drink or the warmth of a fire." A sudden thought struck him. Best to just ask outright. "Unless you are more different than I realise, and I cannot share myself with you?"

"I - " The Doctor paused, visibly picking his words with care. "I am different, but not as much as that. Not for this." 

"Good." Will put on his best smile. "Because you are absolutely captivating and I want you."

He wrapped both arms around the Doctor, and this time when Will's lips sought his mouth the Doctor kissed him back. Will pressed, only gently, but the Doctor yielded easily, lying down on his back. Will followed, dropping more kisses along the skin of jaw and neck, fingers nimbly working the buttons on the Doctor's shirt. 

It was obvious enough. The Doctor wanted to lay down his responsibilities, to be taken care of rather than having to care for others. Let him lie back and allow Will to make all the decisions for a little while; Will could carry the load. The words came readily to his mind; words to help define their encounter as simply physical comfort between friends. The last thing the Doctor needed was the clinging weight of another lost soul.

"Such fine cloth, and sewing such as I have never seen! But so plain; where are your ribbons and silks, your velvets and jewels? Are you such a poor man, then, where you come from?"

"No..." The Doctor answered readily enough, but then his voice trailed off as Will's fingers found the small nubs on his chest. Will met his eyes and smiled, watching as the Doctor struggled to remember the question. "I have silks and laces aboard my ship, but I prefer to wear these simple clothes." 

Will's hands were still busy; but he continued talking in his casual manner as he peeled the layers of clothing away. "You should dress more ornately. This plain cloth does not become you," Will rebuked, but with amusement in his voice. "I would take you for the tutor of a needy family, or a minor clerk, were I less perceptive." 

His hands pushed the undone shirt and jacket aside, baring the Doctor's slender body. He let his hands trail slowly over exposed skin, mapping out the shape of bones and muscle. Indeed, more similar than different. But so very finely drawn... 

"You are so frail, I fear to hurt you. Have you been in such despair, that you neglect yourself so?"

"It was a dark year," the Doctor admitted. "I am tired, but not weak. No careless touch of yours would be enough to hurt me. I need rest, but outwardly I am much the same as always."

"Rest? Shall I leave and let you sleep, then?" Will took care to keep his voice light and teasing, although if the Doctor truly wanted sleep, he would go and find another bed for the night. It would be a shame, though. He devoutly hoped that the Doctor would refuse his selfless offer, since he didn't feel in the least like leaving. To aid his cause, Will's hand ran down over the Doctor's hip and thigh, knowing that flesh calls a response from flesh in despite of clothing.

"No," the Doctor answered quickly, reaching for Will's arm as if to prevent his going. Will chuckled at his panic, and leant down to place yet another kiss on his forehead. The Doctor titled his head back, and Will accepted the mute invitation to take his mouth again, feeling it open to him this time. He lingered, making a slow exploration of its sweetness. He moved his hand from the Doctor's thigh to the front of his trousers, taking care to pay attention to the swelling hardness underneath while his fingers dealt with the remaining fastenings.

Will took his hands away, smiling inwardly as the Doctor made a small moan of disappointment and reflexively lifted his hips to keep the contact. But Will needed both hands to push the Doctor's shirt and jacket back off of his shoulders, wanting to strip him completely. The Doctor rolled to one side and then the other to assist him, then grabbed his clothes and tossed them aside, pulling Will back down for another hungry kiss. 

Will broke from the kiss, but stayed close, lips touching cheek and jaw. He licked and nibbled, trailing his way down the bared torso, bringing his hands to rest on each side of the Doctor's hips and waiting; a silent request that the Doctor answered by lifting his body and allowing Will to slide off his remaining clothes. Will turned his back, but solely to remove the Doctor's shoes and place them aside with the armful of clothing. He stood up and without ceremony shed his own clothes, hastening to slide back into the bed and pull the best of his blankets over them both.

The Doctor's skin was cooler than Will expected; Will pulled him close, full length against full length, and rocked against his partner to warm him with skin contact and friction. His intent was less than purely selfless; the friction of groin against groin was delicious, his already hard prick tingling with the stimulation.

Fast and hard, he decided, as his lips tasted the skin along the Doctor's jaw and his hands followed the lie of lean flanks. Sweep away the Doctor's thoughts and worries with a flood of sensations, to give him a moment's mental peace. Oh yes. 

Will had a square wooden box containing lanolin, boiled and strained through a cloth, in a niche in the wall beside the bed. He dipped his fingers into it now, smearing the greasy ointment along his shaft with a sigh of contentment. The Doctor pressed upwards with his hips, pleading for a return of Will's attention. Will spread the lanolin down the Doctor's shaft as well, rubbing it on with dextrous fingers, reaching lower to play with sac and delicate skin and finally, fingers still well greased, sliding between spare buttocks, muscled but lean rather than plump with fat.

Maybe his thinness was simply one of those unimportant differences he had mentioned. Certainly everything seemed otherwise normal to Will's explorations, including the sharp intake of breath as he slid one finger inside. Here was the warmth missing from the Doctor's exterior, warmth and a response Will could only take as a welcome, the Doctor pressing down into his hands for more. One finger, then two, but not spending too much time on it. The Doctor was urging him on, his breathing rapid and his hands roaming over Will's upper body, back, chest, shoulders, every part that was within reach. 

After taking his time earlier, Will was impatient to sheathe himself. The Doctor seemed well ready, judging by how his hips rocked into Will's fingers, and how his hands came down to Will's lower back, pulling him closer.

Will lined himself up and pressed inwards, moving as slowly as he could bear, forcing himself to err on the side of caution. The Doctor reached up and grasped his hips, pulling Will down and forcing him deeper. Will abandoned the slow approach and thrust.

The Doctor groaned, and muttered some words that Will could not recognise, but decided were probably foreign encouragements, from the tone. He settled into a rhythm, thrusting several times hard and fast, then slowing down almost to a stand before slamming himself in deep again.

He dropped his hips a little, changing the angle, before wondering _"Does he even have a-"_ and deciding _"yes"_ as the Doctor threw his head back and moaned, fingers of both hands digging sharply into Will's shoulders. Will gave it all he had, burying his shaft to the root on every stroke, pulling air in great gasps for one final burst of speed. The Doctor's swollen prick, slippery with lanolin and rubbing between the two bodies, jerked as he came, body shuddering and shaking with the force of it.

Will slowed, until he was just rocking himself gently, and waited. "Are you all right?" he asked, when it seemed that the Doctor was mostly back to normal.

"Yes," was all the answer at first, and then the Doctor came back more to himself. "Yes! Please, finish."

Will sucked in a breath, and with three hard, fast strokes he found his completion, spilling his human warmth deep into the Doctor's centre. The Doctor cried out and clutched at Will's arms, so that Will looked down in concern. "No, it's okay. Just... a little intense, that's all."

"You do have strange ways," Will chaffed him. "I suspect I would not like your world, if such intensity in bedding causes alarm."

The two shared a long silence, each body shifting to accommodate the other. Will was sated yet not quite ready to sleep, and he noticed that the Doctor's eyes were open, although his body was relaxed, long limbs sprawled under the blanket. His visitor was also more at peace with himself, unless Will had lost all of his vaunted perception.

Will spoke first, his warm voice spilling words fraught with significance into the silence of the room.

_I taste your sweat, drying here on heated skin,  
So strange you are to me, and yet we are akin._

The Doctor looked at him for a long while, and then answered in kind.

_Akin in soul, in mind, in heart,  
One night to touch, then each must leave to play his part._

Will grinned as his game was taken up. He continued,

_'tis right, 'tis meet, that you should go,  
A traveller, a thousand worlds to know.  
Beyond all reach, not within reach to stay  
While I shall dwell in England all my days._

The Doctor nodded in acknowledgement of the gift, that Will could give of himself without trying to bind him beyond what they had shared. He searched for words to match.

_But other climes you tread by dint of mind,  
Enchanted isles and far-off lands you find.  
Your feet remain upon your native land  
Yet you can gather worlds within your hand._

Will looked across at the Doctor, his eyes half-lidded and totally provocative. "Flatterer," he purred lazily.

"You should know," the Doctor retorted, smiling. "Aren't you supposed to be the best?"

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Will teased.

"No, no! Anything but that!" The Doctor groaned theatrically, and rolled away from Will's arms. Will followed him across the bed, curling up against his back and stroking his face with the fingers of one hand. 

"Not a summer's day. More of a winter's night, one of those eerie nights when the air itself is motionless, and the silence is so deep and vast that it seems immutable. Yet is it fragile, and can be broken with a careless step or too-loud word." Will continued stroking the Doctor's face, more slowly now, gently outlining the structure of jaw and cheekbones. His voice grew softer. "Then the moon comes out, and the shadows are sharp enough to cut the hand that trespasses where it should not. Those nights are long and full of wonder..."

Will could see it, the moment when the Doctor finally released the last of his defences, and allowed himself to slide downwards into a deep sleep. Will felt rather smug about that; he'd wager it didn't happen very often. All in all he was quite impressed with himself, as he followed the Doctor's example and closed his eyes.

\---------------

Will was not in the least surprised to find that he was alone when he woke. He _was_ rather pleased to find a ten-yard bolt of russet velvet laid on the table, carefully clear of the wine stains and wax drops from the night before. A pretty love-token indeed, he thought, measuring the drape against himself and considering his options. A cloak, perhaps? The velvet was a fine weight to swirl out behind him when bowing over a hand. So his travelling friend did own some fine luxuries.

A pity, though... He'd given the Doctor nothing in exchange. Well, nothing aside from - hopefully - an easing of his soul. Which was admirable, but hardly a gift to bring a lightening smile to that expressive mouth, or to summon the memory of Will to the Doctor's quicksilver mind when he was long gone. 

_Words._ The Doctor was from the future; but not so far that Will's words had all been lost in the wash of time. Will was a poet; he would write him a poem, such a poem that it would last down the ages until the Doctor came to be. A work that would be solely for him, expressing what Will had seen. A soul in pain, torn by a rending grief over the loss of the friend he loved without wavering, even when that friend had changed beyond recognition. A poem for the Doctor and his friend who called himself the Master.

He picked up his quill, dipped it in an inkwell, and pulled over a clean piece of paper. The words flowed.

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark..._


End file.
